


A Prisoner's Welcome

by fyreyantics



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, Asphyxiation, Barebacking, Come as Lube, Dirty Talk, Humiliation, M/M, Manhandling, Non-Consensual Spanking, Painful Sex, Power Imbalance, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:01:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27518056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyreyantics/pseuds/fyreyantics
Summary: Peter's first day as an inmate had been bewildering and exhausting. At long last he finds himself alone in his cell for the night. However his moment of respite is quickly disturbed by two unexpected visitors — both strangers — who insist on 'welcoming' Peter to his new home.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Brock Rumlow, Quentin Beck/Peter Parker, Quentin Beck/Peter Parker/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 15
Kudos: 111





	A Prisoner's Welcome

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this fanart](https://twitter.com/mikazure/status/1307845468341391362?s=20) by the wonderful Mika.
> 
> Bless you for doing the Devil's work.

The cold stone walls of the prison were no more welcoming than they had been that morning, but at least in his cell he was alone. In a small bare room, Peter sat on the mattress and metal framing that now served as his bed. For the first time since entering the prison he was alone. He felt like he could breathe. 

He remembered the bus ride into the prison grounds; the way the intimidating cold grey building had loomed into view, the overly tall wire fences whose purpose up until then was to keep prisoners in. Now Peter realised, with uneasiness, its job now was to keep from getting out.

The prison officers treated him and others like cattle, stripping them of their clothes, their possessions — all catalogued with clinical coldness — before herding them through the rooms and corridors. Deeper and deeper Peter had been led, further and further from the life he had once known. 

Now night had set in. Cold nipped at his skin. Peter's ears strained to hear the contents of the faint clamouring of voices down the hallway. Throughout the day unsavoury jeers and taunts from the other prisoners had followed him. Peter told himself it was bravado — no one was going to do anything to him. They were joking, trying to scare him. Besides, he wasn't going to be here for long. Someone higher up would realise the mistake; they'd realise that Peter wasn't supposed to be here. He was sure of it. Someone would appear at the door to Peter's cell, apologise for the misunderstanding, and escort Peter back into the familiar world.

Peter tried to believe that but the longer he stayed, the harder it was to assuage his fears.

The squeaking of the cell door called Peter's thoughts to a stop. With cautious curiosity Peter watched two men enter his cell.

Neither of them were prisoners.

The first was a man wearing a well-fitted suit. His dark brown hair was slicked back and teamed with neat beard, giving him the image of professionality. In contrast, the man beside him wore the blue uniform of a prison guard, his black hair haphazardly-styled, and by the lines on his face, was definitely encroaching into middle age. He bore an unpleasant smile that set Peter on edge.

The first man's blue eyes lingered over Peter, assessing him. After a brief moment the corner of his lips twitched.

"Your name's Peter, is that right?" the man asked.

"Yes, sir," Peter responded, his eyebrows furrowing into a half-frown, unsure of why they were there.

The two visitors shared a look. The already unpleasant grin grew wider.

"My name's Quentin Beck. I'm the warden here," the first man calmly explained. "I didn't have any pressing matters tonight so I thought I'd come welcome you to my institution. It isn't usual, but...in special cases — if I have the time — it only seems polite. Don't you think?"

Nothing about Beck's words or tone invoked comfort. In fact, they were doing the opposite, and Peter's brain was scrambling to find a motive for Beck's visit — and why he had brought another man with him. There was no good reason for either of them to be there.

"This is Rumlow," Beck continued, gesturing to the man behind him. "He's one of the guards here."

Peter nodded. Rumlow's gaze was unwavering and uncomfortable to meet. Peter broke eye contact, his sight instead taking in the pair of metal handcuffs attached to Rumlow's belt.

"But first, we'd like to check you over again." Beck's head turned minimally to the side. "Rumlow."

Rumlow strode towards Peter, grabbing him by the arm in a vice-like grip. Alarmed, Peter fought against it.

"Hey! Let me go!"

"Take off your shirt," Beck commanded coolly.

Peter shot him a disbelieving look. "What?"

Rumlow gave Peter a sharp kick in the shin.

"Ow!" Peter exclaimed. He glared both at Rumlow, then at Beck. "What was that for?"

"Take off your shirt. We need to check you."

"But I've already been checked over," Peter told them, his tone rising in protest. "I haven't got anything."

Rumlow loosed his grip on Peter's arm, but only to begin roughly tugging up Peter's shirt. The feeble fabric tore as it rode up uncomfortably high, digging painfully into his underarm. Once again Peter tried to reason with them but it fell on deaf ears.

"Raise your arms," Beck instructed.

The roughness of his shirt chaffed at his skin. Peter relented and put up his arms, if only to stop the ridiculous struggle. The cold brought goose bumps to his skin and he crossed his arms to preserve heat. Then Rumlow went for his pants.

"Hey!"

Peter's eyes widened as Rumlow pulled them down in a swift motion — Peter's underwear with it. Peter stumbled, trying to cover himself but only succeeded in stepping out of the pants.

Fear now marked his expression. He cursed his own naivety. This wasn't about checking him. But he didn't want to think about the other reasons that came to mind.

"Look, this really isn't necessary, okay? The security officers — they looked really thoroughly! I swear! So I can just put on the clothes again, and we can forget about this, right?"

Beck took a couple of steps closer, speaking as he went. "Did you know that several criminal organisations mark their members? They leave tattoos. Sometimes in the strangest of places."

Peter balked. Now he was being ridiculous — Peter? In a gang? In other circumstances he might of laughed, but standing naked and exposed in the presence of these two men? He was starting to feel powerless. 

"Take your hands away. Rumlow needs to inspect you."

"But no one tattoos down there!" Peter said in a panicked voice, worry plaguing his expression.

Without Peter realising it, Rumlow had moved behind him. He seized both of Peter's wrists and pulled them behind Peter's back. Peter looked to the left and to the right, as though in need of confirmation that his wrists were gone. He struggled but Rumlow's grip was tight. 

Peter ceased his struggling as Beck stepped forward. He walked in a determined stride toward Peter, coming to a halt in front of him. Up close, Beck was no less intimidating. His blue eyes surveyed Peter with glacial coldness, for a split second gleaming with delight. Beck raised his hand and Peter flinched back when the Beck lay his palm on Peter's chest. Large and warm, Beck's hand possessively smoothed up to Peter's sternum. With curiosity he felt the outline of Peter's clavicle before moving his hand to encase Peter's neck in a loose grasp.

Fear clenched within Peter's chest. Beck didn't squeeze, but Peter had already found his breathing grow shallow. This man was making it increasingly clear how few qualms he had with doing exactly as he wanted. Peter held back a nervous swallow, determined not to show weakness.

"Nothing there," Beck said idly. "But maybe..."

Beck removed his hand. His gaze dropped. When Peter saw where his hand was now reaching, he fought back against Rumlow's grasp. Rumlow held him fast.

"He seems nervous. Maybe there is something there," Rumlow said, his breath near Peter's ear.

"No! There's nothing there, I swear!"

His body tensed when Beck touched his flaccid cock. Peter's eyes grew wide. He kept his gaze fixed above and beyond Beck. He didn't want this. He didn't understand why this was happening. Maybe if he pretended it wasn't happening, it'd end sooner.

"A little small," Beck said. "Nothing so far."

Peter clenched his teeth, determined not to react. Beck then grabbed Peter's balls roughly, forcing a cry out of Peter at the nauseating pain.

Peter gave a clipped sigh of relief once Beck let him go but the nausea didn't shift. He tried to breathe more evenly and hoped against hope that this was all they wanted; that they'd had their fun and would let him go.

"There's one place we haven't checked, Boss," Rumlow stated. His voice reverberated through his chest against Peter.

"Show me."

Peter yelped as Rumlow tugged him backwards, turned him round, and slammed him against the wall. The impact stunned him. His face began to sting and throb from where the concrete had grazed him. Tears welled in his eyes but the pain was almost forgotten at the sound of clanging metal.

"We'd better make sure he cooperates," Rumlow said. "He's been a little unreasonable, hasn't he?" Rumlow said.

Peter's hands were roughly shoved through cold metal handcuffs. They locked with a horrifying click. Peter attempted to fight them, but found them completely unyielding. If there had been fear before, there was now a surging panic, clawing inside him like a caged animal. They weren't letting him go. 

Rumlow's hands held Peter's ass, massaging each cheek before spreading them apart. Peter made a last-ditch attempt to fight back, kicking his foot back to hit Rumlow. Rumlow laughed as Peter lost balance and fell forward against the wall, hitting his head once more.

"Please don't," Peter said, his voice wavering.

A thumb slid down and touched his entrance. Peter managed to keep the whimper to himself. The shame and powerlessness weighed him down, sinking him into hopelessness.

"No, please, there's nothing there!"

"Yeah, I guess not," Rumlow agreed. "But doesn't he have a pretty little hole, Boss?"

Peter choked back a sob.

"He really does," Beck said. "And he's been such a pain when all we wanted was to welcome him."

Beck walked beside Peter. Peter looked down, not wanting Beck to see his wet eyes. Beck lifted Peter's head by the hair.

"And you want to make it up to us, right?" Beck muttered into Peter's ear, invasive and unwanted.

Peter shuddered.

"Please don't," Peter said in a quiet voice, the words falling from his lips in a rush.

"Don't worry," Beck told him, and without looking Peter could hear his grin. "We'll make sure you're nice and ready for us. We are nothing if not reasonable."

A wet finger pressed at Peter's entrance and Peter struggled forward, away from it. He heard Rumlow chuckle darkly, tugging him back by the handcuffs.

"Come on, baby. It's almost like you don't want this."

Peter opened his mouth to protest — of course he didn't want this — but Rumlow had managed to angle Peter to just the right position to force a finger inside him.

Peter gave a short cry in response. The feeling was strange, foreign, and unwanted — and it burned. Hopelessness enshrouded Peter; the surety of his powerlessness further incited the panic surmounting him. He tried to think of anything but now, anywhere that wasn't this cell, anything that wasn't the fingers forcing their way inside of him.

"He's gonna be a good one, I can tell," Rumlow said, brimming with excitement. "Gonna be so tight. You looking forward to that, princess? Getting your ass full of my dick?"

Peter said nothing. His lip trembled.

His hair was viciously tugged backwards.

"Aren't you going to answer him?" Beck asked. His voice, though calm and level, couldn't fully obscure his sadistic glee.

A nausea built in Peter's stomach, and with it a hatred. He steeled his expression, looked Beck straight in the eyes, and kept his silence.

Peter heard the smack before he felt it. Stinging hot pain flared on his right ass cheek. His mouth opened in surprise, and he hissed in pain as three more slaps came in quick succession. Peter cried out with each, tears welling in his eyes. He waited for the next, sniffling, and now avoiding Beck's gaze.

"You gonna be a good boy now?" Rumlow asked.

Peter slowly nodded, hating himself.

"So tell me what you want," Rumlow said as he shoved another finger inside Peter.

"I...I want your..." Peter stopped, eyes shut and face scrunched up.

"My what, princess?"

His face grew warm with shame.

"Your cock," Peter said quietly. "Please."

Fingers slid out of Peter. Rumlow pulled Peter by the handcuffs up close to his chest. 

"Well, why didn't you just say so?"

Peter could feel Rumlow's erection through his pants, pressing flush against him. Rumlow manhandled Peter down onto Peter's bed. The thin mattress did little to soften his landing. It all happened so fast that Peter barely had an opportunity to prepare himself when Rumlow pushed apart his legs.

"Gonna fuck you so good, baby," Rumlow growled as his hands gripped Peter's ass, prising the cheeks apart. His hard cock slid up and down the cleft a few times before Rumlow very deliberately pressed the head against Peter's hole. Instincts got the better of him, and Peter whimpered a small 'no' while fighting to escape Rumlow's grasp.

"Come on, Peter. I thought you said you wanted it," Beck said at Peter's side. He carded his fingers through Peter's hair in a mock kindness.

Behind him Rumlow grumbled in frustration. He grabbed Peter by the handcuffs, lined up his cock once more, and roughly forced Peter onto it.

Peter cried out. His breath caught in his throat, and he found himself fighting back tears as Rumlow ruthlessly shoved his way further and further inside. Pulling back and thrusting in over and over, Peter wasn't given anytime to adjust. It stung and burned and Peter hated how Rumlow's cock was filling him, stretching him open in a way no one had done before. Rumlow was inside of him — buried deep, making soft grunting sounds as he rocked his hips back and forth, using Peter like an object.

Peter's throat constricted at the thought. A new wave of tears filled his eyes. He could see out of the corner of his eye that Beck was watching with interest. 

"Please stop," Peter managed to say.

Rumlow chuckled. Peter turned to look at Beck. Beck simply stood smiling gently, as though Peter wasn't being violated in front of him, like he wasn't complicit in the whole ordeal. Peter felt nauseated when he noticed Beck's cock straining against the front of his slacks.

"It would be rude to make him stop now, don't you think?" Beck asked Peter.

Peter sobbed quietly, head lowering to hide his face.

"He's fucking tight, Boss," Rumlow growled. "More than just a pretty ass."

He laughed loudly and cruelly at his own joke. He started to pull on Peter's wrists to join with his own thrusts. The loud slap of skin-against-skin filled the room, as did Peter's wails of agony. Every time their bodies met, Rumlow hit against Peter's reddened ass cheek, reigniting the searing pain.

"It hurts," Peter pleaded.

"Yeah? Feels pretty damn good to me."

Peter couldn't do anything. He had to take it — the pain, the humiliation, and Rumlow's cock slamming into him over and over. Peter bit his lip to stifle his cries but could no longer find the energy to hold back his tears. He knew Beck was watching, drinking in the sight of him, and he hated it. He hated that Beck was letting this happen.

Before long Rumlow began rambling away to himself, disgusting words Peter wanted to tune out.

"Fuck baby, you feel so good, so fucking good on my dick. Bet you fucking love it, huh? Getting fucked like a fucking whore. Like you fucking deserve." Rumlow groaned and sped up even further. "You want my come, baby? Gonna come in your tight fucking ass, baby. Gonna fucking come —"

With horror Peter realised he could feel it — he could feel Rumlow's come spilling inside him. Peter stayed still, trembling once Rumlow finally pulled out and let Peter's wrists go. He took a moment to rest, his body aching.

"My turn."

Peter tensed.

"No," Peter gasped. "No, please, not again —"

Beck's hand clenched hard around the back of Peter's throat. Peter's eyes widened in surprise.

"Peter, I wanted to welcome you to my prison." Beck said in an menacingly calm voice. "I came here expressly to do so. Are you going to turn me away? Deny my hospitality?"

Peter's eyes ached from crying, yet tears burgeoned once again. He forced himself to take a deep breath — or as deep a breath as he could manage — intending to reason with their madness.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, just...not tonight, please." Peter begged. "It hurts."

"And it hurts me to hear you refuse."

Peter searched for the words to make it stop, to find his way through the maze of their twisted logic. Panic, pain clouded his thoughts and all that could come out, that could possibly express what he wanted, and how he felt, was a plain and heartfelt:

_"Please."_

Beck sighed dramatically.

The clang of Beck's belt buckle rung out, followed by the sound of a zipper being undone. Peter's legs were pushed apart and carefully, slowly, Beck slid his cock into Peter's abused hole.

But Beck wasn't rough. He took his time, pressing deeper into Peter, inch by inch, dragging smoothly in and out, eased by Rumlow's come. Peter lay whimpering — the knowledge brought a new layer of shame. Every movement brought pain, and Peter wanted it out. He didn't know if he could go through this again. 

A moment later Peter felt a spark of something new. Beck's cock had brushed against something inside him, and a hint of pleasure bled into the aching, the stinging, the all-encompassing pain. Again and again, Beck's long drawn-out strokes touched something that actually felt good. Against his will, Peter's whimpers with each thrust began sounding a little more like moans. And Peter hated it — hated Beck — as his own cock was beginning to stir to attention.

"He really is a good fuck," Beck commented, his large hands gripping down on Peter's ass, spreading him wide. "And he sounds so cute."

Unexpectedly Beck pulled back. With a harsh thrust, he slammed forward and all the way in.

Peter cried out in pain, gasping as Beck repeated the movement. Something like a wail escaped Peter — loud and uninhibited, like a wounded animal.

"St-stop," Peter pleaded.

"Aren't you appreciating your welcome?" Beck asked, voice rough as gravel.

Again, the flare of pain as their bodies collided, Peter's struggling to accommodate Beck's size.

"Please — please stop, it hurts - it hurts -" Peter's voice fell to sobbing.

Beck's hand clenched around Peter's neck. Nails grazed his skin as Beck started to squeeze. Despite exhaustion, Peter's body tensed in terror.

Beck picked up the pace. He set a steadier, faster rhythm. Peter could hear his shifts in breathing while Peter struggled with his own.

"Aren't you grateful?" Beck growled. "I'm taking my time out to fuck you — just a worthless prisoner."

Before Peter could reply, Beck grabbed his head and shoved his face into the mattress. Peter managed to take a few breaths, each shorter than the last, until he started working for air that wasn't there. He shook with effort to fight Beck off, because oh god, he couldn't breathe, Beck wasn't going to stop, and he couldn't —

"A dumb fucking slut," Beck hissed, low and sibilant. "Keep begging for it to stop, but you're hard, aren't you?"

Desperate muffled groans came from Peter. He fought even harder — he needed to breathe, he needed to breathe, it hurt with how much he needed it, he'd do anything if he just could get one gasp, just one breath —

"So much tighter," Beck groaned.

A moment later and Beck's hand lifted. Peter drew in a huge gulp of air, then coughed. He felt dizzy.

"Please," Peter rasped, not sure exactly what he was asking for at this point.

Rumlow chuckled to the side. Peter's body ached, his mind hazy and yet everything was suddenly sharp. The rough fabric beneath him chafed his skin, his hard cock forced to rub against it with each of Beck's forward thrusts. The dull grey of the prison wall appeared almost vibrant, and each sound pervasive and impossible to shut out. The slap of their bodies colliding sounded so close. Peter couldn't tune any of it out. It was constantly on the surface of his mind.

He couldn't figure out a way to get Beck to stop. It was all too much. Finding coherent thoughts was like searching for a coin in a muddied pond.

"Please...sir."

Peter swore Beck faltered for a moment.

"Please. Please, sir please stop —"

With no warning Peter's face was plunged back against the mattress again. Beck fucked him harder; a relentless pace. Peter struggled harder. His body thrashed with desperate need — not just for air, but for respite, for a way out. He wondered briefly, between pure instinct to fight for air, if this was how he would die: face buried in a ratty old mattress as a stranger fucked him against his will.

Beck let his head go and Peter gasped for air once more. 

"You shouldn't talk to the warden like that," Rumlow said from beside the bed. "Shouldn't be so goddamn rude."

"I'm sorry," Peter weakly sobbed.

A wicked grin spread across Rumlow's face. He ruffled Peter's hair.

"There's a good boy. You're gonna have to learn your place while you're here."

"Yes, sir."

Fatigue had given way to surrender. He took Beck's thrusts without fighting, endured the pain inside and out, and lost the will to keep himself quiet. He sobbed and wailed all the while Beck let forth breathy moans, hammering into Peter. Peter gasped and a drawn-out helpless cry escaped him.

"You want his come, slut?" Rumlow asked. He pulled back Peter by the hair to see his face. Peter swallowed down the urge to deny him. He felt vacant. 

"Yes," he whispered, hoping that was what Rumlow wanted to hear. 

Rumlow slapped him. "Say it properly."

"Yes, I want —" Peter scrunched up his face in pain, "I want his come."

"Well maybe you should tell him that." Rumlow chuckled dryly. He let go of Peter's hair and his head fell forward.

"Please, sir," Peter said, tired and defeated. "Please come in me."

He kept his head down, hiding himself in shame.

"See, not so hard — to ask for what you want."

Peter whined and gasped until Beck finally stilled. He came with a throaty shout, and as much as Peter tried to tune it out, he couldn't help but feel Beck coming inside of him, pulse after pulse.

After what felt like a long time, but might have only been a minute, Beck pulled out. He gave a satisfied sigh as Peter collapsed, slipping off the bed and onto his knees. Both Rumlow's and Beck's come leaked from him and onto the floor beneath him.

"You were right. He is a good fuck," Beck said conversationally, doing up his fly.

"Yeah. I'm thinking he's going to be a lot of fun. Guess I should get out of the handcuffs."

A click, and they fell away from Peter's wrists. Peter's shoulders seized up when he moved his arms; they'd been in the same position so long.

"See you tomorrow, Peter."

Peter waited until they both left, hearing the door shut, before truly relaxing. He wiped his eyes and nose. His eyes stung. The cold air had him shivering. Stumbling to his feet, Peter limped his way to where his clothes had been left. He winced as he moved his body to get them on. Body aching, he finally made his way back to his bed.

He lay there on the mattress feeling blank. Emotions — shame, fear, disgust — swept to the front of his consciousness before fading away just as quickly. 

Staring into the darkness, he fell into a pain-laced stupor, unsure of tomorrow, unsure of himself, and feeling incredibly alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always greatly appreciated <3


End file.
